Today is a triumphant day, not because I survived my first morning alone with both girls while Dr. Husband was at work nor because I not only survived but managed to take the three of us on a walk (in the rain! My born-and-raised-in-Seattle two-year-old was undaunted!) up a flight of eighty stairs to a local coffee shop for my second dose of morning caffeine nor because I not only survived and took us on a walk but also managed to make a batch of granola (the muffin granola finally ran out), shower, do a load of laundry, and only snap at the whining two-year-old once—no, today is triumphant because I am wearing jeans for the first time in about seven months.
Mind you, they are in NO WAY my pre-pregnancy jeans or even my early maternity jeans. These are jeans I bought yesterday in a brand-new-to-me size—and even though they are alarmingly wide and ridiculously high-waisted, they look pretty great. Paired with the right top (loose, ruched, and black) they make me look NOT like someone who just had a baby but like a healthy rugby player. At least in dim lighting.
And this is what really matters, right, people?
photo courtesy jusben, morgueFile